Women Behaving Badly_An uplifting, feel-good holiday read Page 17

  “But you know now?”

  “Yes.”

  Alice thought miserably that, until now, she hadn’t realised how much she didn’t want this baby to be a girl. A baby girl; pink and frilly and vulnerable; twisting Daddy round her little finger. She imagined Jay with his daughter in his arms, carrying her on his shoulders, holding her hand on the way to school, comforting her over her first heartbreak, giving her away on her wedding day. Jay and his daughter. Whatever happened to Jay’s marriage, his daughter would be there for keeps.

  “Are you painting the nursery pink?”

  “Well, as a matter of fact, we — oh, Alice! I didn’t want to talk about this, but you did ask.”

  “Yes, I did ask.”

  “And now?”

  “And now, as you’ve said so many times, we just carry on.”

  “I’m so glad you see it like that.” Jay took her in his arms. “Thank you for being so generous, so, well, accepting. It’ll make things — us — so much easier.”

  For you, thought Alice, returning his embrace. It’ll make things easier for you. For herself, she felt only a dull sense of misery. For whatever Jay might say, things would never be the same again. How could they be? From now on, he would be juggling three women instead of two, and she knew who was most likely to be the loser.

  “I expect you’ve got a photo. Of the scan,” she said now.

  “I think I have,” Jay said. “They gave us each one at the hospital. But I’m sure you don’t want to see it. After all, they all look the same at this stage, don’t they?”

  “No. I’ll see it. I — I’d like to see it.” After all, she might as well start now. In due course there would, no doubt, be other photos: baby photos, toddler photos, school photos. Perhaps if she saw enough of them, she would eventually become immune to the pain.

  Jay got out his wallet and produced a grainy grey photo, and he was right. It looked more or less identical to every prenatal photograph Alice had ever seen. And yet she found herself examining it carefully. The dome of a head, a face half-hidden by a tiny arm, a curve of belly, miniature knees. Alice scrutinised the picture but could find nothing particularly significant. She handed it back.

  “I told you,” Jay said, replacing the photo. “They might have been scanning anyone’s baby. I certainly wouldn’t have known the difference.”

  “There’s no need to sound like that,” Alice said.

  “Like what?”

  “As though you couldn’t care less. Jay, this is your baby. Your daughter. Of course you think the photo’s special. How could you not?”

  “Well, okay then. We do, but I don’t expect anyone else to be interested.”

  We. There had been no “we” when Alice had had Finn. She remembered the photo of her own scan — the wonder and excitement with which she had gazed at it. But there had been sadness, too, because there had been no one to share it with, and her mother (“very nice, dear. Which way up is it?”) hadn’t been at all the same. She still had that photo stuck in an old medical folder somewhere. It hadn’t seen the light of day in years, but Alice thought that when she got home, she would look it out and perhaps show it to Finn. Even at that early stage, his manhood had been in no doubt. That at least ought to please him.

  “Are you all right?” Jay asked her. They had left the car and were walking along a canal bank. It was a beautiful summer’s evening, and they had brought glasses and a bottle of wine.

  “Yes.”

  “You don’t seem yourself.”

  “Don’t I?”

  “No. Come on, Alice. It’s the first time we’ve been able to spend an evening together for ages. Try to — oh, I don’t know. Try to be a bit happy.”

  “I can’t. I just can’t. I’m sorry. I don’t want to spoil our time together, but I’ve never been any good at pretending.”

  “Alice, darling. If it’s the baby, it was you who started all this, asking about the scan, discussing the photo. I was quite prepared not to talk about babies at all.”

  “How can we not talk about babies when I’m sure you spend a lot of your time thinking about yours? Of course you’re preoccupied with it; how could you not be? And if it’s a big part of your life, then I have to accept it and share a bit of it. Otherwise our relationship isn’t real.”

  Jay spread his jacket on the grass and sat down. “Why do you have to make everything so complicated?” he asked. “Why can’t you just enjoy us — our relationship — and leave my home life out of it? I very rarely talk about it myself, but you keep bringing it up.”

  Alice sat down beside him, hugging her knees and looking out over the muddy brown water. A pair of swans glided serenely past, and she wondered whether these beautiful birds, which were supposed to mate for life, were ever tempted to stray.

  “I’m not making things complicated; they just are,” she said. “We can’t take our time together out of its context and pretend that everyone and everything else doesn’t matter.”

  “We’ve managed so far.”

  “We’ve never had to face anything as big as this before. Besides, you’re a man. You can pigeonhole me neatly away when we’re not together. With me, it’s different. You — you leak into all the other areas of my life. I can’t get away from you.”

  “Do you want to?”

  “Yes, in a way. Then this wouldn’t hurt so much.”

  Jay uncorked the wine and poured them each a glass, and for a while, they were silent. Eventually he spoke.

  “Alice, the last thing I want to do is cause you pain. You know that. But with the best will in the world, it’s inevitable. And I have no more control over this situation than you do.” He rescued an insect from his wine glass and released it into the grass. “I want the baby — of course I do — because she’s mine. My daughter. I can’t not want my own child. But Angela… Angela’s different.” He sighed. “I wouldn’t choose to spend the rest of my life with Angela. But now I have to. I have to stay on and make the best of things.”

  “Did you really feel you had a choice before?”

  “In a way, yes. Before the baby, I had a — well, I had an escape route, I suppose. The fact that I could give up on my marriage if it really came to it made it possible to carry on. I’ve had patients who’ve told me they would never seriously consider suicide, but they know it’s there if they ever need it. Of course, this isn’t suicide — nothing like it — but it’s the opportunity for a way out, a choice.”

  “You’ve never said any of this before.”

  “I’ve never felt like this before. I don’t think I realised how much I needed that tiny element of control until I didn’t have it anymore. But you —” he turned to look at Alice, and she was surprised to see that there were tears in his eyes — “you still have that choice. You could go — I certainly wouldn’t blame you — and give yourself another chance, maybe find happiness with someone else.”

  Happiness with someone else. Briefly Alice considered what he’d said, and then shook her head.

  “There is no happiness with anyone else. There can’t be,” she said. “It’s you I love.”

  “Darling Alice, I don’t deserve you.” Jay pulled her down beside him and kissed her. “But I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  When Alice got home that evening, Finn was watching a late-night film.

  “I thought you were staying with Kenny,” Alice said.

  “He’s been grounded.”

  “But you haven’t.”

  “Same thing, with Kenny’s dad.”

  “Poor Kenny.” Alice had seen Kenny’s father once — a great bull of a man, with the aggressive stance of an alpha male gorilla and, by all accounts, a temper to match.

  “So,” said Finn, “where’ve you been?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Not really, but you’re very late, and you’ve been crying again.”

  “I’ve got a bit of a cold, that’s all.”

  “Not true.” Finn swung his legs off t
he sofa and sat up. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Try me.”

  “Finn, no. I’m entitled to my life, and my — my secrets, if you like.”

  “Mum, I’m not stupid. I know you’ve been unhappy recently. I know you’ve got some weird new friends. And I’m pretty sure you’ve not read War and Peace. So, what’s up?”

  “As I said, it’s complicated.”

  “I can do complicated. I’m not a kid anymore.”

  Alice sat down beside him. “I’m not sure you’re ready for this kind of complicated.”

  “Don’t you trust me?”

  “Of course I trust you. It’s just that there are some things you’re better off not knowing.”

  “Does Trot know this — whatever it is?”

  “Yes, he does.”

  “Well, then, you can tell me. I’m much more sensible than Trot.”

  “That’s true.” Alice laughed.

  “Okay then. Are you going to tell me?”

  Alice looked at Finn. He had grown a lot in the last six months. His profile had lost the softness of childhood, and he was already more man than child. He could be very mature when the occasion demanded it, and he could also be discreet.

  “If I tell you some of it, will you let me leave it at that?”

  “Have you told Trot everything?”

  “No.”

  “Okay.” Finn folded his arms.

  “Right, then.” Alice wondered for a moment whether she was being very unwise, but there was no going back now. “I’ve been — seeing a man for some time. It’s not a relationship that will ever go anywhere, but I’m — I’m very fond of him. Sometimes it’s painful. My ‘weird new friends’ as you call them are people I can talk to. They’ve got problems too — different problems — and it’s good to be able to offload a bit.”

  “No War and Peace, then?” Finn seemed amazingly unfazed by Alice’s revelations.

  “No War and Peace.”

  “And no more pretending? No more — lies?”

  “Definitely no more lies.”

  “I thought it was man trouble,” said Finn with satisfaction. “Poor old Mum.” He squeezed her shoulder, then stood up and stretched. “I’m going to make a sandwich. D’you want one?”

  Gabs

  Following the disastrous picnic in the park, Gabs had decided that enough was enough. She had little in common with Alice and Mavis, and they certainly hadn’t been any help to her. When Mavis phoned to arrange the details of the next meeting (it would be her turn to host it), Gabs would make her excuses, and that would be that. She didn’t need Alice and Mavis in her life, and she was pretty sure that the feeling was reciprocal.

  Then came Alice’s phone call. Gabs had been in a particularly good mood, and the idea of trying out make-up was irresistible. She had immediately forgotten her resolve never to see Alice again and had had a thoroughly enjoyable afternoon playing with Alice’s very expensive samples and flirting with Alice’s dishy son. She had been able to offload some of her worries, too, and Alice had proved to be a sympathetic listener. Perhaps the Basic Theology meetings could continue after all.

  In the meantime, there was Steph.

  Steph was fretting, and of course Gabs was the only person she could talk to. Gabs did her best to be understanding, but she still thought her sister was mad. She also thought it was high time that the ineffectual Clive was informed of his impending fatherhood.

  “He needs to get used to the idea, too,” she said as Steph was revisited by her breakfast for the third morning in succession. “Besides, why should you be the only one to suffer?”

  “He’ll be awfully upset.” Steph rinsed out her mouth and dried her face. She looked terrible.

  “Good,” said Gabs. “You’re upset. I’m upset. I guess now it’s his turn, don’t you?”

  “I suppose.”

  “Right, then. You’d better phone him.”

  “Do I have to?”

  “You have to. No time like the present. Where’s your mobile?”

  Gabs fetched Steph’s mobile and watched her as she dialled Clive’s number.

  “What shall I say?” Steph whispered.

  “Tell him you need to see him.”

  “What if he asks why?”

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake, Steph, give it here.” Gabs took the phone from Steph. A man’s voice answered.

  “Is that Clive?” Gabs said.

  “Yeah. Who wants to know?” The voice sounded jolly, with a hint of flirtatiousness. Gabs reckoned she’d soon put a stop to that.

  “Steph’s sister wants to know,” she said. “Remember Steph? From church?”

  “Yeah. I remember Steph. Course I do. You’re the sexy sister, are you?”

  “Not so fast, Romeo,” said Gabs, thinking that Clive seemed to have grown up a bit since she last saw him. “Steph needs to see you.”

  “What about?”

  “You’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you?”

  “Will you be there?”

  “I’ll be there,” said Gabs grimly.

  “I’ll come to your place, then, shall I?”

  “You do that. Tonight if possible. Seven o’clock be okay?”

  “Fine. I’ll look forward to it.”

  Gabs rang off and handed the mobile back to its owner.

  “How was he? What did he say?” Steph wanted to know.

  “He sounded fine. A bit too fine, if you ask me. But he’ll sober up soon enough when we tell him the good news.”

  “Oh, Gabs. Don’t be too hard on him. He’s really nice when you get to know him.”

  “I’m sure he is. And I’ll be perfectly reasonable, provided he’s prepared to face up to his responsibilities.” Gabs patted Steph’s shoulder. “Now don’t worry. Put on a bit of slap, and get yourself off to work. We’re both going to be late.”

  Today was one of Gabs’ days for working for Care-at-Home, the agency that employed her, and she was looking forward to it. It was good to work with real people for a change, rather than the spoilt, wealthy clients who, it seemed to her, spent an unhealthy amount of time (and money) compensating for what they imagined to be their sexual deprivations. The elderly people she visited were always pleased to see her and good for a chat, and while Gabs was rarely able to stay long, she liked to feel that she left them in better spirits than when she arrived. Occasionally if the workload was light, she would style someone’s hair for them or do their nails; Gabs understood how much this could mean.

  “Hair’s like a lawn,” she told one woman as she put in a few heated rollers. “If the lawn’s neat, you can get away with murder in the garden. Same thing with hair. If your hair looks good, the rest of you doesn’t matter so much.”

  “Is the rest of me that bad?” the woman asked, but with a smile.

  “The rest of you is just fine.” Gabs gave her a hug. “This —” she waved the hairbrush — “is just the icing on the cake. Trust me.”

  That afternoon, Gabs had a meeting with her supervisor. Mrs. Grant was relatively new to the job. A stern, hatchet-faced woman, she ruled her little empire with a rod of iron, and was very much in the job for the money. She seemed to care little for her clients, and even less for their carers, and Gabs couldn’t stand her.

  “I’ve received a complaint,” she said before Gabs had even had time to sit down.

  “Oh yes?” Lesser mortals found Mrs. Grant terrifying. Gabs, however, did not.

  “Yes.” Mrs. Grant picked up a folder and opened it.

  “Okay.” Gabs leaned back in her chair and waited.

  “Well, aren’t you going to ask me what it’s about?”

  “You asked me here, so I guess you’re going to tell me.” Gabs inspected her fingernails. One of them was broken. Damn.

  “Miss Kershaw phoned. She says you left her with wet hair.”

  “Oh, does she?” Miss Kershaw was an exceptionally difficult woman. She was always complain
ing, and usually no one took any notice. This was beginning to feel personal.

  “Yes, she does.” Mrs. Grant leafed through her file. Gabs knew that she was playing for time, waiting for some kind of reaction. But Gabs wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction. “So, what do you intend to do about it?”

  “I could pop back and dry it tomorrow?”

  “Don’t be impertinent, Gabriel.”

  Gabs stood up. “Look,” she said, “you know and I know that that woman’s an awkward old bat. I’m about the only person who’ll go near her now, and believe me, I don’t do it for love. If she doesn’t want me around anymore, that’s fine by me.”

  “She has a contract with this agency. We’ve agreed to see to her — her personal needs.”

  Gabs knew that Miss Kershaw considered her personal needs to be many and that she was also very rich. The agency would be most reluctant to lose her as a customer. Since Gabs was pretty well the only carer she would tolerate, the agency also needed Gabs.

  “Okay. What do you want me to do? Grovel?”

  “That will not be necessary. But I think an apology might be in order.”

  “No chance,” said Gabs.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I said, no chance. I’m not apologising to that old bag.”

  “Really, Gabriel! That’s no way to speak about a client!”

  “Suit yourself,” said Gabs cheerily. “But I’ve put up with more than my fair share of lip from that particular client, and if she doesn’t like me, she doesn’t have to have me.”

  “Just a word would be enough, I’m sure.” Mrs. Grant was beginning to look desperate. “If you could just give her a quick phone call? I told her you would.”

  “Sorry, but no. I’m prepared to go on visiting her — and you should thank your lucky stars that I am — but that’s it. No apology.”

  “I’m not accustomed to being spoken to like that by a member of my staff!”

  “Well, that’s tough. But if you’re going to take notice of people like Miss Kershaw, I can’t guarantee that you won’t be spoken to like that again.” Gabs grabbed her bag and made for the door. “I’ll see you on Wednesday.”